Donna Spruijt-Metz

MESSENGERS OF CHAOS

— after Psalm 78 lines 43-51

I’ve been thinking a lot                       lately                                       about blood                           

how sore                      the overused places                   of my body—my gut

full of blood                            too wounded                            to drink


remember how small                          she was           how I thought              she would break 

me open                      and she did                              afterwards there were

green legs                                beating                                    across the hidden path


my gut full of blood                           then, too                                 and my labor

my own                       not now, no                            now     

it is taken                                I am taken                               one option is   


trust in the destruction                         in the mystery of                    next

what is it                     that is being asked                  of us

and who                                  asks us, who                            offers weapons


the skies open                                     just like I did                           in the new 

silence                         the disconnect                         of light

my eyes are so                         unused to these                        shards


what am I                                            looking for                              but messengers

of chaos                                   busted cups                             of anger—more shards

but different                            and drenched                           in poison


I walk towards                                    a leveled path                          and the path

is not                           given easily                             I do not

give over                                 easily                                       or meadows


of clovers, dandelions, nettles,           on rare occasions,                   Cowslips

here, my firstborn       arrogance                               my firstborn

  hate                                         drown them                             I dare YOU.     

Donna Spruijt-Metz is Professor of Psychology and Preventive Medicine at the University of Southern California. Her first career was as a classical flutist. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in venues such as the Los Angeles Review, Copper Nickel, RHINO, The Cortland Review, and Poetry Northwest. Her chapbook Slippery Surfaces was published by Finishing Line Press in 2019. Find her at https://www.donnasmetz.com.